Loving Life

Smile. Hug. Kiss. Laugh. Laugh some more. Love. Live. And take trips paid for by Mr. MasterCard and Mrs. Amex. That's how we have spent the last two months. Sheer euphoria would be the best way to describe it.

Mike finished his Chemo treatment in mid-August, and is feeling better everyday. His hair began growing back, though a wacky shade of frosty green at first. His mustache started growing in really dark; it was pitch black. No matter how many times he shaved his mustache in one day, there was still dark fuzz on his upper lip. For a guy who has always lacked facial hair, this was frustrating, yet downright hysterical. For a while, I was married to Kermit the Frog crossed with a Mexican man. But thankfully, after a month and a half, Mike's gorgeous brown hair returned and his mustache faded. My Mikey was back!

The scans at the end of August were All Clear, which put us on cloud nine. What a feeling to be done with Chemo, and get good scans. We went to Aruba to celebrate the end of Chemo, and then three weeks later, we went to Italy to celebrate life.

Mike's dad's side of the family is from Italy, so he had always wanted to go there. Since there is no better time than now--seriously, if you have always wanted to take that trip, or do that one thing, do it NOW--we booked the trip and two weeks later we were in Italy. Highlights: every minute of the trip. Low points: none. The best part: Mike trying to speak Italian, which usually consisted of some English words pronounced with an Italian-sounding accent, followed by "Grazie" (thank you). To my surprise, Mike had taken Italian lessons. His instructors, however, were apparently Tony Soprano and his associates. Most places we went, someone commented on Mike's last name being very Italian. Turns out that "Filippone" is the "Smith" of Italian last names. This gave Mike extra pride and confidence in his imaginary Italian skills, and he would exclaim "Grazie" with even more conviction when someone recognized him as a fellow Italiano. The exchanges between Mike and his fellow countrymen, all of whom incidentally spoke perfect English, would probably make us a huge hit on YouTube. Only if I had been smart enough to videotape those moments . . .

We are now in the transition phase of back to life at home. Mike feels good and we are enjoying every moment. We have jumped over some hurdles, and there may be more, but for now, we are just busy loving life!

My Hero

The incredible feeling of getting married. An amazing wedding. The excitement of buying a house. A fun 30th birthday. A bunch of parties, trips and a whole lot of fun. Those are the wonderful things that define the last year and a half, not Melanoma. Even though at times, it seems otherwise.

It feels like yesterday when Mike was first diagnosed with Metastatic Melanoma (cancer that has spread from its primary point). Yet, so much has happened in that year and a half.

It was early summer 2004, and we were walking to lunch down the shore in Avalon when Mike told me he had found a lump under his arm. It is probably an infection, we both thought. But we agreed that Mike should see a doctor just to be sure. One appointment led to another doctor visit, to a bunch of tests and a bunch of biopsies. We were freaking out that Mike may have lymphoma. In hindsight, it probably would have been a less devastating diagnosis.

The biopsies showed that the lump under Mike’s arm was Melanoma that had metastasized from a mole he had removed from his chest when he was 21. I began a research campaign to find the top surgeons, doctors, and treatment options. What we learned shocked us. Melanoma is one of the most aggressive cancers, and when it metastasizes, it is difficult to treat. There are really no proven treatments for metastatic Melanoma, and most of the available treatments are experimental. Who would have thought that Melanoma can actually spread, that it is not really just skin cancer, or that it can be deadly.

In July 2004, six days after his 31st birthday, Mike underwent an invasive surgery to remove all the lymph nodes under his arm. Turns out that the little lump Mike felt in that area was actually a collection of 18 malignant tumors. The recovery from surgery was tough—the surgeon had cut into muscle to get to the tumors, so Mike was really sore. Mike was discharged from the hospital with a bunch of staples under his arm and a tube sewn into his armpit which would drain fluids from the area. The drain was a nightmare of its own, and we ended up back at the hospital three times in two days because the darn thing clogged. If it wasn’t so sad, our experience with the tube would have made for a good short comedy. True to form, Mike powered through the pain and recovered in record time. He was back playing basketball three weeks later. The doctors were stunned, and I was truly amazed.

The month after surgery, we met with a number of oncologists (all Melanoma specialists) to get different opinions on what course of treatment to pursue, and we fell in love with Dr. Flaherty at Penn. He was the one doctor who, on top of being one of the best in the country, was positive, optimistic and incredibly kind. Back then, however, we never imagined that we would spend so much time with Dr. Flaherty over the years.

After much research—I had practically become a doctor by that point—and examining all of our options, Mike decided to enroll in vaccine trial at University of Virginia. The goal of the vaccine was to boost Mike’s immune system and prevent recurrences. For an entire year, Mike traveled to UVA weekly at first, and then monthly to get injections of the vaccine (Mel-43 Peptide Vaccine). He had some side effects from the vaccine, but nothing that would slow Mike down. Mike continued to get scans every three months, and meet with his doctors regularly. We also continued living life, bought a house and forgot all about the cancer. That is, until Thanksgiving 2005.

A year and a half after his diagnosis, Mike was diagnosed with a recurrence. There were swollen lymph nodes on both sides of Mike’s neck, and they all had to be removed. We went back to our surgical oncologist, Dr. Spitz, who is a fabulous surgeon, a great doctor, and a wonderful human being. A week before Christmas 2005, Mike had surgery on both sides of his neck. The recovery was tougher than the first surgery, and this time, he had two drains sewn into his neck. The good news was that I had become a master of maneuvering the drains, and this time, we had no real difficulties. The pathology results from the neck surgery were not good—54 malignant tumors were removed from Mike’s neck. This time, Dr. Flaherty suggested that Mike undergo treatment with Chemotherapy and another experimental drug.

Knowing that Mike would have to start Chemo, we changed our wedding plans. Instead of a wedding in Aruba in the summer, we had our wedding here in February. If I may say so myself, our wedding was amazing.

A month after the wedding, Mike began a regimen of two Chemo drugs called Carboplatin and Taxol, which were injected into his arm at Penn’s Chemo Infusion Lab every three weeks. Simultaneously, he also began taking an experimental oral Chemo drug called Nexavar.

Mike is now half way through his six-month Chemo regimen. It has definitely been really hard. He has lost his hair (well actually we had a preemptive shave party), does not have an appetite, feels tired and generally sick all the time, and has suffered through a Chemo burn on his hand and a horrendous rash from the Nexavar. Yet despite all that he has been through, and all that he is going through, Mike continues to be his happy, funny, strong, resilient and downright incredible self. He lives each moment for that moment, and each day for that day. Most people in his shoes would feel sorry or sad for themselves; Mike never has. I doubt that he ever will. He is determined to win this fight, and I believe that he will. Mike is truly my hero.